Punishment
by RoswellSmokingWoman
Summary: Sister Jude had always taken a certain pleasure in whipping the patients at Briarcliff. She was cleansing them of their sins. But when you, a new nun at Briarcliff, come along, she wants to fill you with sins. She wants to defile you with every crack of her whip, by her own hand. [Sister Jude x Reader]
1. Chapter 1

Punishment

It wasn't the inhabitants of Briarcliff that had disturbed you, but rather your duties. As a nun, you had been taught to live a pious life. You prayed before each meal and before you went to bed every night. But not even your prayers could save you from this place, where hauntings weren't just part of fiction anymore. Every creak in the floorboards made you jump. What if one of the patients had escaped from their rooms and managed to find a knife to enact their revenge upon you? Despite not having been at Briarcliff for even a fortnight, you had become one of the most reviled nuns in the institution. Sister Jude had made you perform unspeakable duties that never ceased to haunt you in your dreams. You had become increasingly paranoid over your time here at Briarcliff. You couldn't blame a patient if they had wanted to kill you—you deserved it for abusing God's creations so ruthlessly.

You believed that prayer and the scripture would save those who were slipping down the slope to being damned, but Sister Jude did not quite agree with you. She held the firm belief that the patients of Briarcliff were too far gone to be saved by the Holy Book alone, and required more intensive reform. She claimed to follow Monsignor Timothy Howard's three P's: productivity, prayer and purification—the tonic for the diseased mind. But nowhere in those three P's were the words pain and punishment. She saw each crack of her riding crops and canes as a blessing for all those who strayed off the path to heaven. You wished that you could see eye to eye with her, but in the end you had to give up in defeat as Sister Jude was too a child of God, who was sent to earth to spread his love. She had the most authority of all of the nuns at Briarcliff, and you therefore had to come to accept her methods, not matter how much you disagreed with them.

You could still remember a thick riding crop of Sister Jude's in your hand, your sweaty palms gripping its rough leather handle. The patient trembled against the Sister's desk, begging for mercy. You didn't quite understand why Sister Jude had wanted you, of all of the nuns, to punish this pour soul for its indiscretion, but you knew that you must do it, or you would face this form of severe punishment yourself. You could still see the patient's face grow pale in your mind's eye, beads of sweat forming against his skin as you whipped has buttocks.

 _"Whip him, don't pet him! This is punishment for his sins, (Name)," Sister Jude spoke harshly toward you._

 _"Yes, Sister," you replied quietly, your hands trembling from this daunting task. You whipped him harder, and closed your eyes as you did so. You attempted to block out the sounds of the cracking whip and his screams, but failed. He sounded like he was drowning in a sea of pain, and you wished that the punishment would end soon._

 _"Twenty more lashes," she spat when she saw that you had frozen. "And open your eyes. You should be pleased to be beating the sins out of him, to be making him a purer being. You are saving his soul with each whipping, (Name)." She licked her lips as she watched you carefully. Taking her necklace into her hand, she pressed her fist into her chest in a poor attempt to calm her racing heart. Each move you made caused her heart to race and sublime bolts of electricity to course through her veins._

 _No matter how you wanted to apologize to this man, you couldn't. You kept on whipping him, each strike sharp and deliberate. Sister Jude would not accept anything less. You watched Sister Jude as she closed her eyes and exhaled a breathy whine. You felt something stir in your nether regions that you refused to acknowledge. Your underwear grew wet as you watched the blonde nun slip further into euphoria. When she opened her eyes, you turned your head away and lowered it in shame._

 _"Good, keep going. That's it." Her voice was deep, and had you not been so deliberately naïve at the time, you would have recognized it as dangerously deep, saturated with a want that you had long ago forced yourself to forget._

As you lay in your bed, you felt your undergarments grow wet. You felt restless and could not sleep. Rubbing your thighs together in frustration, you threw the bed covers that had suddenly grown too warm off of yourself. You trailed a hand down your neck, picturing Sister Jude in your mind, her hand becoming yours. You could see her blonde hair shimmering, and her beautiful eyes staring at you. Oh dear God, it had been ages since you had felt a feeling as compelling as this, and how it needed to be satiated! It was like a monster that grew and grew the more she fed it. The insatiable beast refused to leave you be!

"Jude," you breathed, your hands wandering lower down your body. They reached the softness of your breasts, and you squeezed them lightly. You wondered for a brief moment—was the Almighty watching you now? But you quickly become lost in the fire that continued to overtake your body, swallowing you whole in its flames. Your lips let a moan escape from your mouth, no longer able to contain your arousal. Only then when you had let this unholy sound escape your virgin lips had you admitted to yourself that you were experiencing pure, unadulterated lust—and for a woman! Your sins grew with each passing moment as your hands dared to venture further down your body, finally slipping beneath your demure, white slip.

So utterly consumed by arousal, you failed to notice Sister Jude open the door of your room and walk into your room. She had come that night into your room, for a reason she wished she could deny. She couldn't shake the images of your heaving breasts as you bent leaned over her desk, so ashamed of lashing a patient. She couldn't shake how you looked at her, your eyes pleading to her to allow you to stop. Thoughts of you had consumed her so fully that she could no longer deny how she needed you, your skin, and your body. She couldn't believe her eyes. She stood against the wall, her eyes drinking up the carnal sight. At first, she refrained from speaking, her tongue preoccupied as it was licking her own lips. She heard you moan her name, and oh Lord, how sweet it sounded from your cherubic lips. She felt her heartbeat race the moment you had spoken her name, and now she knew, without a doubt, that you wanted her too. She felt her folds moisten the more she watched you, and became lost in the vision before her. Only when she saw you slide your hands further down your thighs, nearing your sacred mound, did she speak. "(Name)!" she shouted sternly, her voice not betraying her in that moment.

You jumped from your bed in terror, your breasts giggling once your bottom settled onto the bed, your legs folded in front of you. Sister Jude's core clenched, her eyes never leaving the outline of your breasts. Trembling, you stared at Sister Jude. "Forgive me, for I have sinned," you told her boldly, noticing the blush upon her fair cheeks.

"Compose yourself, and in the slip which you have sinned, come to my office. I will give you no more than five minutes to come to my office. If you are any later, your punishment will be more severe." She briskly walked out of your room, her head held high.

You stood from your bed, shaking like a brittle leaf in a cold autumn wind. Would she take a riding crop and punish you for the unholy acts you had performed? What if she removed you from this institution completely? But, then you remembered the look of lust pooling in her eyes as she had watched you bolt up from your bed, and you knew, much to your pleasure, that Sister Jude would punish you liberally tonight. There were no words for how slick your folds had grown at the thought.

You arrived at her office seven minutes after Sister Jude had left your room, deliberately making yourself two minutes late for your appointed time. When you opened the door, you walked in with an air of confidence. "I do hope I'm not _too_ late, Sister," you breathed, your voice heavy with arousal.

"Only two minutes, but no matter. We will start off by you taking your pick from my collection." She opened a large, dark brown armoire to reveal approximately a dozen riding crops. "Pick your poison," she whispered into your ear when you had finally reached her.

Goosebumps dotted your warm skin; her proximity to you caused you to shiver in spite of how warm she made you feel. You spied a thick riding crop with slight grooves on its surface. It was still lacquered beautifully, showing minimal wear, causing you to think that Sister Jude used this one for special occasions only. You picked that one, and held it in your hands for a moment, licking your lips as you finally passed it to her.

Losing control of her patience, she grabbed you by the arm and dragged you to her desk, shoving you on top of it. "I should have listened to the others, when they told me about your past. You were a wicked little harlot, weren't you? Even a life of chastity dedicated to God couldn't save you. But maybe I can beat salvation into you, you naughty little thing." Her voice was like thick molasses, sweet but dark, and oh so addictive.

"Then save me sister," you replied, moving your hands to the hem of your slip which was just below your knees.

She hit your hands with the riding crop, and then leaned it against her desk. Her hands, confidently without trembling, traveled to the hem of your slip. They lingered there for a moment, her fingers brushing up against the back of your knees, before moving the slip up your thighs and then to your hips at an agonizingly slow pace. She slid a finger over the edge of your panties. When you moved your hips down against her desk, arching your back slightly, she grinned. A warmth spread throughout her body, her core feeling with a want, a need—a lust—that overtook her fully and swiftly. She pulled the band of your underwear back as far is it could go and watched it snap back. She let out a nearly indiscernible throaty moan as you yelped at the sharp pain. Finally removing your underwear, she could see the red mark from the band that she had made.

This was foreplay like you had never known before. You were on edge, waiting for the moment you could finally be allowed to jump off, but were only given teasings. Every touch of her hands against your skin felt exhilarating to you, and oh Lord, how you needed more. You craved Sister Jude like she was a divine wine whose taste you felt you needed to survive.

"Twenty lashes for the indecency of your actions, ten lashes for the vile thoughts you had allowed to fester in your mind, ten lashes for being late" Sister Jude began, taking the riding crop into her hand once more and sliding it across your bare buttocks. "And ten lashes for moaning my name," she husked. "And if you dare to make a noise, I will punish you in a way you could never imagine."

The lashings began, and you savored each one. She spared you no mercy in her actions. You counted each lashing in your mind both in pleasure and in a desperate attempt to keep yourself from moaning out. Your lips hit the desk on the thirtieth lash, bruising upon its hardness; you imagined that it was the Sister's lips who were bruising your own. Your hands which you had placed above your head curled into tights fists, your finger nails digging deep into your palms.

"Obedience like this is a virtue," Sister Jude spoke, lashing you harder than ever, "Where has your obedience to God fled? Where is your loyalty?" She stopped for a moment, and took each cheek of your ass into separate hands. Her thumbs brutally rubbed circles into your reddened ass. "Where is your shame?"

"Oh, Sister Jude," you whined out in a half-moan that you could no longer suppress. You bit your tongue immediately after speaking those words— _her name_ —so lasciviously, feeling that you had betrayed your mistress.

The riding crop cracked sharply against you, Sister Jude deciding now was the time to continue with your punishment. When you had endured the final lash, your knees buckled beneath you and you fell onto the ground. You rolled onto you back, your chest rising and falling with each of breath of yours, and looked up at Jude who gazed at you licentiously.

She kneeled onto the ground and caressed your face. Your hair was haloed around your head as lay there, waiting expectantly for her next move. She refused to give you immediate satisfaction. "What did I tell you about moaning?" She slapped you hard across the face then, "Humility has been lost to you." Her hand trailed down your body and snaked under your slip. Her hand rested on your thigh, just beneath your dripping wet mound.

"Please, Sister, allow me release," you pleaded; your eyes brimmed with tears from the painful need in your core.

She cupped her hand over your pussy, and you bucked your hips, "You wanton whore," she spat at you, her face nearing yours. Her lips were just above yours, and you anticipated the kiss that you had so long waited for. She closed her eyes, picturing the softness of your lips upon hers, yet she never neared her lips any closer to yours. But, Sister Jude was cruel in her teasing and denied this too to you, "You pray for sexual release instead of forgiveness." Her lips brushed against your chin, and you both let out quiet moans.

"I pray for the salvation only you can give me," you replied, closing your eyes at the sensation of her hot breath against your face. "Punish me."

She pulled you toward her, the both of you now lying on your sides. One of her hands rested on your hips, while the other stayed firmly pressed to your pussy. "Your punishment," she started, passing her index finger over your folds, "is no release tonight." She removed her hands from you, and stood up, watching you groveling on the floor drowning in a pool of need. She returned the riding crop to its place in the armoire without looking at you. "Return to your bedchambers and pray for another chance for redemption."

You left the room, stumbling over your own feet, still weak from the pulsation of your nerves which still felt like they were being poked by the hot flame that was dubbed Sister Jude. And you knew when you had exited the room that this would not be your last punishment from her. Oh no, this was only the prelude of a vast symphony that needed to be written.

Screw God and the writings of the Holy Bible. In all of the religious delusions that you had been fed, you had learned only one thing—sinning was the lifeblood and the defining force of the human race. You were not a pious nun, or a woman of God, but a mere human being who sinned, who lusted. And Sister Jude, in her actions of that night, when she had taken a morbid pleasure in punishing you in such an erotic manner, had proven that she was a human who sinned, who lusted. And God be damned, you would continue to sin with her and for her.

* * *

Sister Jude removed her stark uniform, folding it and setting it neatly in a drawer to be washed in the morning. She was left in her red, silk slip which highlighted her bust with lace. Leaning against the wall, she took her cross necklace into her hand and breathed out a heavy breath. That night, she pleasured herself for the first time in years, bringing herself to orgasm time after time to thoughts of you. Her last thought before falling asleep, beads of sweet covering her body, was that she could barely wait for the next encounter with you. It had been her servitude to God that had stopped her from further purging herself of all the holiness she had taken years to gain. But she knew that God would not stop her the next time, or the time after that, and the time after that.

* * *

A/N: So… Thoughts? Comments? Maybe even Follows/Favorites? I'm thinking of continuing this. And it'll only become dirtier with each chapter.

Song I listened to while writing this: Richard Einhorn-Pater Noster: www. youtube watch?v=sp1UgS044cA


	2. Chapter 2

ii

Days had passed, the sun rising, setting, the moon coming to grace you each night, and it had been nearly a week since your last _escape_ with Sister Jude. You hadn't seen her in the time since then, and wondered if she was deliberately avoiding you, or if you both were subconsciously avoiding each other. You looked around every corner with extra care, as a precautionary measure, for you were not quite sure exactly how you would respond to Sister Jude's presence. Your stomach clenched every time you passed her office door, images flashing through your mind of crack of her cane against your bare ass. And oh dear Lord, how you craved to feel that sensation once more—to feel the fire only she could put into you burn within you. Its cinders only smoldered tepidly now, but they were omnipresent, in awakeness and in your dreams, you always felt that aching want, that unadulterated need, for Jude. And even though you were unbearably nervous about seeing her once more, you knew you had to.

This is why, in the night when you were all alone and you craved company, your thoughts wandered to Sister Jude. And naturally, after the fantasies played out in your head, you were left sweaty and deeply unsatisfied by your own hand lying on your bed. It was then that you thought about why you hadn't seen Sister Jude. If she never wanted to see you again, it would have been easier to have you removed from Briarcliff and placed somewhere else. You would spend hours contemplating until whispers of dawn entered your room, and your eyelids would close slowly as you would pass out from exhaustion. And even then, in your dreams, Sister Jude haunted you. If she was some demon, you would have eagerly allowed her to possess you, for at least then, she would truly be with you.

But then you heard the other nuns gossiping over lunch over Sister Jude's proceedings of the week. She had been preoccupied by an impeding visit she would have to take at another sanitarium controlled by nuns in Connecticut. Only then did you breathe a small sigh of relief; she had been encumbered by this future visit—so much so that she could not have paid attention to you. Or, at least, that was what you allowed yourself to believe. That was your little delusion that you named the truth until proven otherwise.

You walked solemnly in the hallway early that December morning, the chill from outside creeping inside and causing goosebumps too form on your tender skin. Your fingers lightly brushed over the cross which hung around your neck, and you spoke a small prayer underneath your breath, finishing with a firm yet soft "amen". Some all-powerful force—the one that you called God—led you to Sister Jude's office that morning. Every morning, your feet would move of their own accord, and every morning you would find yourself lingering around her office. The same fingers which were once on your cross brushed over the door of Sister Jude's office, and you lavished at the feeling of the rough wood against your fingertips. Your eyes fluttered to a close, and you let yourself take pleasure in your imagination's sins. At first, you had though that it was some conjuring of your imagination, but you had caught the slightest whiff of the sister's sweet perfume. But the scent grew stronger as the seconds passed and you let out a slight moan when you felt a hand brush up against your shoulder.

"Sinning, are we?" Jude spoke, her voice low and sultry.

"Praying, rather, Sister—for absolution, that is. I've done unspeakable, unimaginable things. It is, however, such a shame that you were not there to witness them. Perhaps you could have delivered a punishment that would have kept me from straying from the path to God's Kingdom. _Maybe you still can_." Your voice cracked when it reached a lust-filled deepness at the last words your spoke. Even in your dark past, in all the years you had lived in sin, never had you spoken so sordidly.

"Into my office, Sister (Name)." Her hand swept over your arm as she opened the door to her office, pushing you aside slightly. This brief contact caused you to feel a heat sweep over. It was enough to hook you onto her once more, causing you to crave more—more and more and more, like an insatiable monster. Only once you both were in and the door had shut, had she revealed her true feelings that had been well-hidden by a mask made of pure ice only moments ago. She slapped you straight across the cheek, and you felt a sting both in your cheek and in your heart. "How could you so blatantly act like such a harlot in the hallway where any passer-by could flounce over to see? Really!" She finished with a huff and turned away from you, to hide the pain in her eyes.

You rubbed your hand over your cheek which now throbbed from the pain of the slap, and your eyes pooled with tears that you refused to let fall. "Pardon me for expressing feelings instead of holding them in like an up-tight wretch." You stepped nearer to her, but sighed, when you saw her steps falter as she walked over to her desk.

The temperature of the room dropped several degrees as Sister Jude curled her hands into tight fists against her desk. "Do you understand what sacrilege we have committed? Do you understand the severity of our actions or are you too large of an imbecile to comprehend that? If we continue, and our actions are unveiled, you and I will both be thwarted. If your belief in God is not enough, then the thought of being thrown out of the last place that would ever accept the likes of you should be. And if that isn't sufficient enough of a though, then know it is not only you that would be dragged down, but I too who would fall with you." Her words, sharper than a knife tailor-made to cut through even the hardest of bones, butchered the feelings you had started to develop for Sister Jude. And it was in that moment, when you felt so hurt by her utterances, that you had realized that you had harbored feelings for her.

"I apologize then, for putting your job on the line." You wiped away the tears that slid down your cheeks, and though your mind screamed at you to run from the room and avoid Sister Jude at all costs, you stepped nearer to her and touched her arm softly. "And I apologize for being too large of an imbecile to not hide the feelings which you had made me grow, no matter how wrong and filthy those feelings were. But, but I certainly do not apologize for how you had allowed me to fall so readily for you, let me grow ripe with want, and then pick me like I'm your devilish apple tree. I do not apologize for your actions, and for the part you had taken. And I shall have you know, in the eyes of God, no matter if I acknowledge all of the facts of what had happened, it will not change what I have done or how I feel. The church's acceptance of me will not matter, not when God knows what I have done, and how I refuse to repent for the sins I have committed. It won't matter, especially, if I walk out of this room thinking your coldness and rigidity to be the truth of how you feel." You had uttered this words shakily, unsure of yourself as you had spoken. For you knew, that though this words rang true in your heart, they were defied all you had been taught to be right and moral. "Because, damn me to hell, I know that you feel for me the way I feel for you, and that you have felt this way for me longer than I have for you." Your words were mottled and muddied by the feelings which burst through the dam you had put too much pressure upon.

Sister Jude turned, trembling as she let out choked sobs through her thin lips. Her cries were mangled and heart-wrenching, each one slicing through your heart. "Then leave," she wrenched out, closing her eyes tightly so as to not have to watch you walk out of her office. But she was surprised when you stepped closer to her and cupped her face in your hands instead. She gasped when your finger brushed over her soft, pink lips.

"Your words don't match your intentions," you breathed softly, hoping that perhaps the Sister would be so taken with you and your actions that she would allow her heart bleed the schmaltz it pumped with every beat.

"Whore of Babylon," she spat, though her eyes revealed a certain softness that you could never mistake for malice or any other abhorrent feeling. Then her actions came, which spoke even louder than the words her eyes spoke. Her hands found themselves at your hips, and pulled you closer to her body. Lastly came finally the words that matched her actions. "My greatest sin wouldn't be what I have done, but rather, it will be, if I should allow it to be, to let you walk out of that door." Her hands drew circles in your hips and she neared her lips to yours, but stopped short.

You felt almost lost in the moment, completely in a trance as you stared into her chocolate brown eyes. "Beautiful temptress," you called her, one of your hands wandering to her veil and pulling it down. Her hair tumbled out of it gracefully, and you found her golden tresses to be pure perfection and sheer beauty. Your fingers lingered in her hair, burying themselves in its softness.

She closed her eyes, her heart pounding, and a moan escaped from the confines of her mouth. "This is torture," she spoke, nearing her lips to yours. Then, finally, after what felt like a lifetime of waiting for this moment, her lips met yours. The kiss began slowly, but grew heated quickly, like wildfire. Unadulterated passion burned between you as what felt like spark flew between your lips. And how she tasted!—like the apple of Eden picked at the peak of ripeness, for debauchery had never tasted so sweet. Her lips trailed down your face, to your neck, searing hot kisses leaving the slightest trail of her decadent saliva. You dipped your head back in ecstasy and your veil fell from your head and onto the floor, freeing your (color) hair.

She removed her lips from your skin and looked up to you, her eyes pooled with a want that reflected the fire that burned deep within her loins. "Are you the devil?" she asked breathily.

"No, Sister," you giggled, smiling.

"Judy. Call me Judy when we are alone."

You nodded, "Yes, Judy." Your heart beat elatedly. Even though you two would have to hide and be discreet, at least you had her now. You couldn't ask for more than that.

"I want you to come with me, on the visit the asylum in Connecticut. The Monsignor had told me to bring a nun. I am unsure whether I could survive another week without you." She brushed hair out of your face, and smiled at your hopefully. "I apologize for the words I spoke to you. I was scared because of the possible ramifications of our actions."  
"I know," you began, "I know. And, yes, of course, I will come with you." Your lips met hers once more, and you lost yourself in the taste of her. The taste of her alone filled you more wholly than bread and wine—more than the very body and blood of Christ. And to Sister Jude—no Judy—to Judy, your lips were everything and then some. Your lips made her believe that there was a God, that there was hope for this cruel, miserable goddamned world.

"Hallelujah," you muttered against her lips, pressing closer into her.

* * *

You heard it when all the other nuns talked amongst themselves at lunch or dinner. Perhaps one would believe that nuns are demure little things, but their chastity and servitude to the Lord Almighty didn't change the fact that their lips, like many others, could run a thousand miles an hour with all sorts of trivial, foolish pieces of gossip. Oh how they prattled on incessantly!

But, you couldn't quite help but tune-in once your heard them speak about Sister Jude's trip. Within a day, all of the Sisters at Briarcliff had heard that you would be leaving Friday evening with Sister Jude to arrive Sunday morning at the asylum in Connecticut. But, their conversation turned sour when they spoke of how it was so uncharacteristic of Sister Jude to play favorites. And what shocked them the most was that even though you had only spent a few weeks at Briarcliff, you had gotten on Sister Jude's good side rather quickly. If only they had known… But they wouldn't have, couldn't have known.

You pretended to not be listening in on their conversation, hiding the hurt that you felt within yourself. Few sisters were fond of Sister Jude, and most of them were against her more draconian methods of punishment. And, while initially you had felt the same about Sister Jude, you had come to have terrifying, but beautiful feelings for her. But you couldn't deny that there were facets of Sister Jude that both horrified and worried you terribly. Yet, you could not help, in the end, want her, need her.

It was during this dinner when you had received a note from the Monsignor, asking you to come to his office. You took the cloth napkin which was folded over you lap off and placed it on your nearly empty plate, excusing yourself from the table curtly though politely.

You entered a small corridor which led to the exit of the nun's dining area. You kept your head down as you walked, distracted by the questions that infested your mind. _Is the Monsignor going to refuse to give me the permission to leave with Sister Jude? Had he somehow found out about Sister Jude and you?_ The true breadth of how immoral and treacherous of an act that you and Sister Jude had committed and decided to continue to commit had truly dawned upon you in that moment. Feeling unnerved, you let out a quiet sob.

"Why are you crying my child?" you heard a voice ask.

Your head snapped up, and standing at the door in front of you was Sister Jude with a worried expression on her face. "I'm not crying," you spoke softly, "I apologize for worrying you."

She nodded before walking past you, the entire time without expression on her face. You were well aware of the fact that you two had to be secretive, but being secretive meant that you would be inflicted with pain that was caused unintentionally. Her stoic composure caused an invisible knife to cut through your heart slowly. But the agonizing hurt faded when, as she passed you, she brushed up against you and her fingers swept over your own. For a fraction of a second, she had held your hand.

"Save the tears for when we go down with this ship, but until then, try to enjoy the ride" Sister Jude whispered almost inaudibly, letting go of your fingers, and then continued walking past you coldly.

Had you been able to, you would have ran after her.

The monsignor's office was nothing spectacular, but of course it would be bland and boring. There was something about the whiteness of the room that caused you to be on edge, perhaps because it made you feel like God was watching your every move and anticipating your every breath. The Monsignor sat in front of you, his hands folded over his desk. He wore a forced smile on his face, most likely a pitiful attempt to assure you that you were here for good reasons. But, when to the Monsignor every action was done for the greater good and for God, what wasn't a good reason? All was justified. You knew this all too well, and therefore, you knew no ease.

"Sister Jude has told me that she hand-picked you for this blessed journey to Connecticut. She expressed her full confidence in you, and believes that you are ready for this. However, I want to hear from you your opinion on this." He looked at you expectantly, licking his dry lips.

"I must admit, I was surprised, albeit pleasantly, when Sister Jude had come to me to ask me if I would accompany her. I believe that though I may be a little nervous, I feel that I am ready for a chance such as this. I would love nothing more than to be closer to achieving my mission as a child of God, and this opportunity would enable me to be closer to achieving that tremendous and splendid goal." You fumbled with your fingers as you spoke, hoping that the Monsignor would believe your words to be true. You sighed and placed your hands on his desk and pressed your lips in a thin line as you waited for him to respond.

He put his hand over yours, and smiled broadly. "Spoken beautifully. I am elated that you feel this way and feel so blessed that God had sent you to continue his work at this Asylum, and now to spread it to Connecticut with this short visit." His thumb drew circles in your hand, catching you by surprise. You suppressed a gasp, but panicked internally. This was completely inappropriate! Was he aware of what he was doing?

"Thank you, Monsignor."

"Timothy," he spoke softly, "You do not need to hold me at an arm's length simply because I am the Monsignor."

"Timothy," you paused and then repeated his name once more out of sheer awe. "Timothy." You didn't intend to take his actions as to mean something more, because he seemed to be an innocent man, but your brain told you otherwise. You drew your hand back slowly, as if you were afraid that you would startle the bear and he would in turn pounce. "I am truly grateful that you have spoken with me and asked me of my opinion. However, I must go to complete my evening rounds."

"I understand. And, I would like to tell you that if you should ever need anything, my door is always open to you." He shifted in his seat, but held his composure. You had refused to look into his eyes, but had you, perhaps you would have noticed his slightly dilated pupils and the eagerness pooling in them.

As you exited his office, you wondered: Is he really as innocent as he leads people to believe?

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! I am truly delighted by the amount of kudos/favorites I have received in the last few weeks. I apologize for the long wait for this chapter, but my job is preventing me from writing as often as I would like.

Song I listened to while writing this: Jeff Buckley—Hallelujah: /watch?v=WIF4_Sm-rgQ


	3. Chapter 3

iii

The most difficult part of the trip was, by far, the sheer amount of control you had to muster in order to not place your lips upon Sister Jude's. Her every slight smirk, every graceful move of her hands, every flutter of her eye lashes, made you want to feel her warm lips pressed upon yours. It was even her sour grimaces, harsh glares and acerbic words that made you feel that all-powerful pull toward her. Somewhere in all of her cruelty was this maudlin mass that beat for you, and it was what made you want her even though at times, you would get burned instead of loved. It was a chance you were willing to take. But now, you couldn't even take that chance, for during this ride it wasn't only you in the car with Sister Jude.

You spoke of the mundane proceedings at Briarcliff with her, playing the part of a staunchly devout nun who had renounced all pleasures of the human world. The conversation was bland, but the words unspoken that lay between the words spoken where what held your interest. You watched her face as she spoke to you, catching every miniscule slip of emotion that let you know what she was truly thinking. They held a firm grip on you, the words that told you how much she longed to feel your body against hers.

The driver looked back toward the two of you and an all-too-cheery smile spread across his face. "How are you two ladies fairing back there?"

"Oh, we're doing quite well, thank you," you replied timorously. You found his cheerfulness annoying for some reason. You had a feeling gnawing at you that told you that his happiness was an act, and that beneath his exuberant façade was something malignant.

"Alright, good." He laughed a hollow laugh that caused goosebumps to painfully dot your skin. "I just thought I should let you know that it looks like a storm's coming. It looks like it could be a bad one. I could stop at a motel if you two would like." In his balding head, you swore you could see the reflection of Satan, full of malice and blood-lust.

You looked toward Sister Jude and shot her a look that told her of your own unease. She, however, misinterpreted this. "That would be wise," she said.

It was too late to voice your opinion to her. You would have to tell her later, when you two were alone. You wished that she had noticed the devilish smirk across the driver's face when he heard Sister Jude's reply. You wished that she had felt the only thing there was to fear was the man sitting in the driver's seat, and not the storm.

Yet, you found something off about Sister Jude as well. Normally prudishly observant, she was quite unlike herself in the moment. An unsettling paranoia settled in your mind. Why hadn't Sister Jude noticed? Were you simply over-reacting to some man slightly strange mannerisms? You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply. You dozed off, images of the drivers face twisting into a demonic visage. You fidgeted in your sleep while in your nightmares you were running from the driver turned demon. Or at least, that nightmare had begun that way.

 _Sister Jude cautiously placed her hand over your knee feeling the need to console you in some way. "Wake up," she whispered in your ear, "You're having a nightmare."_

 _Your eyes opened, tears sliding down them. "Jud—Sister, I'm sorry."_

 _She only nodded and slipped her hand off of your knee._

 _Before you knew it, you had arrived at the motel. The motel appeared to be run down and dilapidated. The neon sign read "vacant" had only three working lights. The parking lot was grass covered with pebbles and weeds. Why the driver had chosen this motel, you did not know for certain. But you prayed, for all you had left in that moment was prayer, and you prayed that this motel would not be your place of death._

 _After getting two rooms, one for you and Jude and the other for the driver, Sister Jude took your suit case and then handed it to you. As she took her own suitcase from the driver's hand, she stepped ever so nearer to him. Readying yourself in case something unfortunate was to happen, you gripped your suitcase's handle tighter. But then Jude stepped back and smiled crookedly at him. You carried your suitcase to your room, Sister Jude quietly following behind you. She watched the driver as he unlocked the motel room, kicking the door open. Stumbling, Sister Jude brushed up against you and your breath hitched. She looked behind herself and saw a crack in the floor which her heal had gotten caught in and cussed underneath her breath raspily, "Damn."_

 _"Are you okay?" You asked, grabbing a hold of her arm._

 _"Yes, yes." She brushed off your hand callously, and then proceeded to open the door of your room._

 _The moment the door closed behind you, you turned to Sister Jude. Your heart raced in your chest with fear. "That man—the driver—there is something ungodly about him!"_

 _"You think that I haven't noticed?" Sister Jude sighed, "I am not incompetent." She sat down on the bed and began to unbutton her habit to reveal a silky red slip. Your mouth watered at the decadent sight of her cleavage as the habit slipped off of her shoulders._

 _"Then why agree to spend the night in this hellhole?" You followed her lead and began to unbutton your own slip. Despite the trepidation you felt, you could not help but admit that your attraction to her had subdued the ill-opinion you harbored for the driver._

 _"Because, I have the key to the car." She smirked, and flashed the key which she had pulled out from the pocket of her habit._

 _"Thou shalt not steal, Sister Jude."_

 _"Not the worst of sins, I must say. And certainly not a sin when you are protecting not only your life, but selflessly protecting another's. Even God would admit that it is wise to steal in times of absolute need in order to survive."_

 _"When you took your suitcase from him—is that when you stole the key? When you stepped only ever so nearer to him?" Your habit fell to the ground, and you felt your folds moisten. Jude's intelligence only heightened your arousal for her._

 _She pulled her headdress off and threw it to the ground. "I must say, you are rather observant. But tell me, what can you observe now?" Wantonly, she lay on the bed, bending her knees and separating her legs. Her slip slid down her milky thighs slowly, and your eyes beheld her slick womanhood in a state of complete undress—as she had deliberately chosen to not wear underwear._

 _"N-no," you stuttered, feeling yourself shake from the powerful and conflicting feelings you felt. "Judy, we can't do this. We need to get out of here." The desire that raged in your body, polluted it with sin, was slowly taking control of your better judgement, but it hadn't fully succeeded yet._

 _"No! That is not how we will go about this! I ask you a question, and you answer. I gave you permission to speak, now don't abuse it!" Control saturated her voice, and the ruthless nun with an iron fist had come out to play. "Now come on, (Name). Tell me, what do you see?" She placed her finger over her glistening folds and slid her finger over her clit, letting out a breathy moan, "(Name)."_

 _You licked your lips lustfully, your eyes never leaving her pussy. "Absolute carnal need," you replied huskily. You threw off your headdress much in the way she had._

 _All too soon, she sat up. She bit her bottom lip and her brown eyes looked into yours. Her presence was dominating, and with every step she took closer to you, you felt like you were being held in place by her aura, being chastised for even thinking about being the one to take a step closer to her. She hummed a sultry tune and the sound of it made you yearn for her touch even more. You were being reduced to a keening mass of pure want, and how you needed that want to be met, to be fed. "Oh God, please," you begged, when her hand brushed your hair away from your face._

 _"Did I tell you that you could speak?" She asked darkly, snaking her hands around your waste. "Why are you being so defiant now? Is it because I haven't got my canes with me?" She laughed quietly, "Do you feel like you can get away with more now that I can't punish you with lashings?" She claimed your lips swiftly, and the moment you let a moan escape your defiled lips, she bit down. You whimpered softly, but at the same time a painful pleasure coursed through your veins. "I can punish you in other ways," she whispered against your chin._

 _She flipped you onto your back, and climbed on top of you. Her eyes flashed red as her hands traveled over your body. You arched your back in pleasure, but that pleasure disappeared quickly and was replaced by utter terror. Her hands wrapped around your neck and she began to strangle you, bloody tears falling from her eyes. The world around you grew cold and black, and the last thing you saw was her cackling in satisfaction as your body grew limp underneath her._

* * *

When you awoke, you were tied to a chair, your hands handcuffed and your mouth covered by duct tape. You attempted to scream but to no avail, as it came out as a muffled moan against the duct tape. Then it had occurred to you: Where was Sister Jude—your Judy? Salty tears burned your eyes as they weld up within them. You swallowed thickly, trying to remain calm but failing miserably. Looking around yourself, you began to panic. But then, you felt a soft hand brush up over your own, and from the electricity it sent soaring through you, you knew that it was Jude. Maybe, you thought, there is a God.

It was only after you knew that Sister Jude was alive and with you that you could talk a moment to breathe a breath of relief before calculating the severity of your circumstance. The stark, unlit room you were in smelled of piss and rotten food. You sat next to a boarded up window that only allowed for a sliver of light to come into the room.

You could hear a clattering outside of room, a sort of jangling, and then you realized—your captor was unlocking the door to the room. The moment the door cracked open, you began to scream, hoping and praying that someone would hear your muffled outcry.

The door clicked shut behind him and a monstrous laugh roared from his lips, and it felt like Lucifer had fallen from heaven just so that in this moment, he could slap you across the face with this man's demonic cackle. Your heart pounded with every step he took closer to you. Out of the corner of your eye you could see that he was carrying a brown paper bag, stained with oil or some other liquid.

"You stupid, stupid girl. No one can hear you! The building's been abandoned for the past twenty years. The closest thing to us is a gas station about a mile away, so I dare you—try and scream as loud as you can through that duct tape covering that sweet little mouth of yours. " He spat on the floor, and then turned to you, and scoffed at the sight of you, in your habit and the crucifix hanging around your neck. "All that beauty wasted on worshiping a fictitious character. Funny that Mickey Mouse doesn't have hordes praying to him. You're part of an idiotic cult that follows blindly—spending hours of their lives praying and attending churches for false comfort and false hope."

How you wished that you could speak to him now, that you could yell and cuss and oh dear God, call for help until by some sheer miracle bestowed upon you by Heaven, that someone would come and save you from this vile, wretched being that dared to call himself a human. Instead, all you had were your thoughts wailing inside of your head, unheard and laying there to rot until you could finally put them to use, if you ever got the chance to.

You felt Sister Jude fidget behind you, her hands brushing up against yours. Her fingers grabbed a hold of the rope that held your hands together, and she searched quickly for a bump, for the knot that held the rope together. She was more worried for you than she was for herself. She had grown up a fighter; she knew how to survive. But you—you were young, and had much to learn about the harshest aspects of life. And now, she knew, that you had lived through you great deal of troubles. You had drifted from boy to boy in your youth after running away from an orphanage at the age of sixteen. By twenty, you had yourself a fiancé, but you had only caught that man by chaining him to yourself with a bun in the oven neither of you had intended on making in the first place. After suffering from a miscarriage, he had left you, and you had spiraled out of control. It hadn't been long before you had stumbled into a Church on Christmas, drunk and hungry, a poor soul needing to be saved. Despite the fact that Sister Jude had known all of this, she had known that you were still young, and had been ripped away from the rawness of life by a nunnery perhaps too soon. You weren't virtuous or innocent by any standard, no, but there was a sort of naivetés to you, a lack of life-threatening experience that had left you without the skills necessary to survive in times of great darkness. This left her to fend for you in her own way. She would allow you to be the distractor—for she knew all too well that there would come a time where our captor would be in need of some entertainment.

"I understand that you must be hungry. But, there's enough food for only one in this bag. So, doll, here's what I'm going to do for you, I'll take the tape off of your mouth, and I'll let you eat this. Afterwards you're going to suck my cock."

You mentally gagged at his comments, but you were unsure of what to do. In your mind, accepting this offer would be a betrayal to Jude. With her finger she traced "OK" into the palm of your hand, and as she did so, tears fell from your eyes. You nodded timidly, accepting his offer.

"Good choice. But you need to understand, if you make noise, or scream, it'll only annoy me, and it'll only make me kill you sooner, and more painfully. Now, we wouldn't want that now would we?"

You nodded again, averting your gaze.

"That's a good girl." His voice was gruff and his face looked absolutely repulsive to you. His pockmarked face was podgy and his dull blue eyes bore into you like soulless demons. His black hair was greased back, but it was nowhere as greasy and disgusting as his character and lack of morale.

He pulled the tape off of your mouth and let it drop to the floor, "Why the duct tape if there's nothing around for miles?" You asked boldly.

He slapped you immediately, but answered your question afterwards. "Because I don't want you talking to the bitch sitting behind you. You two would get clever, and I don't like it when bitches get clever. And don't try talking again, unless I give your permission. Next time, it won't be just a slap."

Your head hung downwards as you processed the pain that throbbed in your cheek. You were sure that the assault would leave your face bruised. With your hands tied behind you, you wondered how you were going to eat, but didn't dare to speak again. He began to feed you bits of the greasy sandwich that was in his bag. A fleeting thought passed your mind—what if it was poisoned?—but you quickly dismissed it. You concluded that poisoning you would be too simple and not entertaining enough for your captor.

When you finished the last bite, he took a handkerchief out of his pants-pocket and wiped your mouth with it, "Now, for your end of the bargain. I am going to have to untie you, and I expect you to not try any funny business." He flashed a flashed a pocket knife at you and you gulped. "Do you understand?"

"Completely." You closed your eyes, fighting the tears that begged to be released from the cages that were your eyes. A seething pain tore at your heart and made you want to disappear from the face of this earth.

He bent down to untie your legs and you suppressed the urged to hyperventilate. You felt the binds around your hands loosen as he untied your feet, feeling Jude's hands brush over your palms time and time against. She freed your hands before he could free your feet, and you held still, waiting for the opportunity to strike him. Sister Jude held the rope that once held your hands together between her palms. All the while, he was oblivious to the fact that she had untied your hands successfully. She prayed that her efforts to untie you would not go to waste, and she had faith that you would do your best to fight our captor.

He began to rise, and the moment he moved to untie your hands, you pounced, tackling him to the floor. Groaning in frustration, he attempted to throw you off of him, but failed. You need him in the crotch and while he writhed in pain beneath you, you took the pocket knife that he held in his pocket and flipped it open. "You bitch!" he yelled, panting furiously. Your pressed the knife up against his throat, and waited, holding your breath.

"Now, you let Sister Jude and me free, or we will leave over your dead body."

"Isn't murder a sin, dear Sister? What about your vows that you hold so dear," he spat.

"God doesn't save damned souls that have gone beyond the point of no return. My vows be damned, I'll risk my state of grace in order to make it out of here alive." You pressed the knife up harder against his neck, nicking him enough to draw a few drops of blood. You were surprised that it ran red, instead of the evil black that you had thought had run through his veins.

In the meantime, Sister Jude had managed to free her own hands of their poorly tied bindings, the rope falling to the floor. She ripped off the duct-tape which had covered her mouth immediately, gasping for air as she rushed to untie her feet.

"(Name)," she breathed softly, running out of her chair to your side.

But before she could reach you, your captor flipped you onto your back so that now he was on top of you. The knife fell to the floor, clattering on the ground. The sound of it falling out of your hand drained you of all faith that you had had. Where was God now? Where were the angels that watched over you? "You step on inch closer to us, and I'll fuck her pussy so well I'll split her in two." He shoved his hands up your habit.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Again, my job is keeping me so busy that I barely have time to write. I was a little iffy about this chapter when I wrote it, but I couldn't imagine making it anything else. Tell me what you think! And thank you (a huge thank you) to all of my readers.

P.S. I wrote this intending that it would mostly be smut… And then an actual plot came into my head. So, we'll see where this goes. However, I do promise that smut that you couldn't even dream of will come soon.

Song I listened to while writing this: Queen—Who Wants To Live Forever?- watch?v=_TsOPjZEF6E


	4. Chapter 4

iv

Sister Jude was facing an impossible decision, which clawed at her insides and made her want to crawl out of her own skin. Her legs ached to move, to run toward you so that she could save you from our kidnapper. But, she feared that his threat was not empty. She had miscalculated when she planned for you to attack him after she freed you of your binds. She never expected that he would find the perfect moment to overpower you; or rather, she didn't think that he would have had the brain power to manage to counterattack. And now, with the knife inches away from your hand, so close yet so far away, she felt hopelessness settle within her.

"Listen to him, Judy," you choked out, bitter tears running down your cheeks. You called her Judy, because if you were to die that day, you wanted to call her Judy at least one last time. God damn it all to Hell.

But she couldn't. She wouldn't. She weighed her options and concluded that she would rather die trying to save you than being the reason why you weren't saved. So she lunged forth, her heart feeling as if it were swooping out of her chest, heavily falling away from her as the world stood still. It felt like years until she fell to the ground, the knife in her hands.

A shot resounded from outside the door, causing you to scream louder than you ever had attempted before. For a fleeting moment you thought you were hallucinating, but when you dipped you head back and looked toward Judy, the look on her face reassured you that she had heard it to. Meanwhile, your captor swore underneath his breath, unsure of what to do. The windows were boarded up and if he were to run out of the door, he would be caught by whatever forth person was in the abandoned building.

"Get off of her," Sister Jude ordered, her voice as sharper than the knife she held in her hand.

He did as he asked, trembling like a brittle leaf blown by a chilly autumn wind. "Put the knife down. There's no need for any of this brutality anymore." He put his hands up over his head as a gesture of defeat. "The game's over, you know. I've fucking screwed it up." he said gruffly, looking at the floor.

Jude, however, did not believe him. He was like the snake in the Garden of Eden, full of lies. Maybe someone more naïve would have given in and believed him, but not she. Instead, she walked to you and offered her hand to you to help you get up. You accepted it immediately.

Sister Jude felt in her zone, ready to fend for herself and you. She held the knife in front of her, pointed at our kidnapper. "Like hell I will," she spat, waiting for whoever was just outside of the door to knock it down, to somehow enter that locked room and save. She took a deep breath and recited the Prayer of the Guardian Angel in her mind, keeping one hand behind her back and using it to hold onto your habit as if it were the very red and blue robes Jesus of Nazareth wore in those divine icons.

But instead of the boom that came from the ramming down of a door, she heard a click as a key unlocked the door and yet another click when it opened. In that moment, she felt as if she had fallen apart, like the weak seams that held her together had finally broken apart and the sensitive, soft stuffing within had seeped out. And if it weren't for you, whose very presence picked her up and pieced her together, she would have let herself diminish into tears.

A man, this one blonde and lanky with half-dead eyes that stared off into the distance, marched into the room, rifle in hand. "I see you've started the fun without me, Antonio," he spoke, his voice gruff and hideous. His thin lips formed into a crooked sneer, "That's too bad. I would've had fun with the younger one," he spoke, looking at you.

"Quit your yapping, Nico, and come over here. The hag thinks she has the upper hand on me because she managed to swipe my knife." Antonio ran into Jude, sucker punching her in the gut and continued to run forward, driving her back into the wall. The knife which she had once firmly grasped into her hand flew out of her grasp, clanking against the floor. The sound was like church bells that rang at one's death, resounding with dolefully.

Blood sputtered out from her lips and dribbled down her chin. She winced in pain, but did not allow herself to scream. She wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. When she was younger, her mamma had taught her a thing or two about what to do in these situations. Martin girls were bred to be tough, well, certainly so, when all they had was God and alcohol and they used the latter in access. For a Martin girl turned to God to solve her problems, and when God couldn't solve her problems, then she would turn to alcohol—and if there were neither, she had herself and would use herself. They were, for lack of better words, more prone to these sorts of predicaments.

And so, with a forced sort of wild abandon, she flung her veil off of her head, letting her golden lucks burst free from their cage. "Kinky aren't you?" she husked, looking her assailant in the eyes in grinding her hips against his member. "I bet you like it rough, huh?" she whispered to him breathily, dipping her head back.

You gasped, shocked by Jude's actions. How she acted disgusted you, and hurt you. It was something that you wanted to believe had only been for you—how she could lust, how she could sin, but most of all, how she could risk her place in God's kingdom just for you. But, then you realized when you saw a vicious glint in her eyes that she had put up an act. It was her last resort, of sorts, to do this. And she was doing it for you, so that you would come out alive.

"Looks like I got the fun one, Nico. Who knew this old broad had it in her?" Antonio chuckled, "All you nun are whores. You just go to your convents to blow the priests instead of a different man every night." He pushed Jude harder against the wall, driving his hips into her pelvis. "And when the priest wasn't enough, they'd go to the altar boys. 'Course some of the younger ones didn't know what was going on, now did they? But some of the nasty ones, when the older altar boys were taken, would use the younger ones. They didn't even know what was going on. You know what it's like to be seven years old and have a nun fuck you?" He spat in her face. With a challenging glare, she refused to show her disgust. "Nico, get the other one."

Antonio adjusted himself against Sister Jude, unzipping his pants and letting them fall to the floor and pool around his feet. She used this moment to turn to you and nod at you assuredly. Somehow, though she didn't know exactly how, she would keep you safe and untouched by either of our captors. You pulled yourself together, only resisting Nico's touch slightly. The moment his rough hands met you skin, however, you could no longer keep yourself composed. Tears flowed from your cheeks and you screamed, how you had kept yourself faithful to God, how you couldn't sin like this, though they were all lies—because you had defiled yourself with Judy, oh, but you could not let anyone else defile you. With Judy it was different, with her sin was more divine that maintaining your grace.

He ripped your panties off of you, and you wished for death, in your head screaming the words, "Just let me die now!"

Meanwhile, Sister Jude continued to tease Antonio, but at the same time kept an eye on you. You were panicking and she was nowhere closer to overpowering him and by some God-given miracle finding a way to escape. And so, tears too fell from her eyes and flowed like creaks down her cheeks. "Why am I still in this damned world?" she asked herself for a moment, faith slipping from her.

The air grew cold and you shivered as goosebumps appeared on your smooth, soft skin. You stood still as you saw an ethereal, but ruined beauty standing before you, her face veiled in black lace. She lifted her hand up, gesturing gently toward you. Stepping closer to you, she began to speak, "Why have you lost hope, beloved child?" Her voice was soft, even soothing.

"Because Judy and I will never get out of here," you whispered back, your voice cracking. "And if we never get out of here, there is no point to live.

She nodded, "I can bring you peace." Her hand rested on your shoulder, "But are you sure?" she asked.

Though you felt as if time stood still, you felt as if you were thrown onto the floor and a weight pressing on top of you. "Would Judy come too?" you asked.

"Her song is like yours, but I cannot answer for her." Black wings sprouted from her back as she leaned in closer to you. Death seemed near, and how comforting it was, like a graceful fall into an eternity you were sure led to somewhere.

But Shachath turned away from you, distracted by the man on top of you who was readying himself to take you completely. She spoke words to him that you could not hear, her form fading slowly.

"Why are you betraying God, so, child?" Shachath questioned Nico, caressing his face with her hand. "You once loved God as you loved yourself, but where is that now?"

He sobbed, "There isn't anything but this, this justice for all the boys who endured molestation. There isn't a God—not when those who worship him can do such vile things."

"I can take your pain away. You do not have to do this. God doesn't view your misfortunes as sins."

"Please," he pleaded, standing on his knees and his hands clasped over his chest.

She pressed her ice cold lips against his. His body grew limp against her touch, and an all-consuming light enveloped him, captured him and tugged at him. His heart raced faster and faster, a pain in his chest erupting. And then, all of a sudden, there was nothing. His breath halted as he fell sideways onto the floor, tumbling off of you.

And then she turned to Antonio who stared blankly at his fallen comrade. He could not see her yet, but he felt a chill settle into his spine. A scream erupted from his mouth, and he pushed Judy off of him. "What did you do to him? What did you do?" he yelled, charging after you like a bull toward a red cape. He picked you up off of the floor, and held you mid-air, crushing your ribs with his hands. Sister Jude, picking up the knife ran after him and lunged toward him, without thinking, without breathing. The knife plunged into his fleshy back. She collapsed to her knees, hyperventilating, her hair sticking to her sweat-stained forehead. Her hands fell to her side, taking the knife with them. Crimson blood flowed from the gaping hole in his back. He tumbled to the ground, thudding against the wooden parquet.

He choked out blood, convulsing in pain against the floor. In the pain, he saw a black figure lying beside him. "It's time to go," she breathed, her breath smelling bittersweet. Lips pressed against his and then nothingness, no feeling, only a fall into a vast chasm of light that blinded him.

Two bodies lay limp on the ground, and Shachath, looked to you and Jude, before deciding that your songs had changed and that you both had lives ahead of you yet. She disappeared, neither you nor Jude noticing her black wings enveloped her as she imploded into nothingness and went onto the next soul wishing for death.

You kneeled in front of Jude, wrapping your arms around her neck before capturing her lips with your own. "You saved me," you spoke between kisses, "We're alive." You kissed the metallic-tasting blood off of her lips. She held onto you, kissing you back with equal passion.

You buried your head in her bosom, listening to her racing heart. "Why would you ever do that for me?"

"Anything for you (Name). Anything." She would give you anything, because now, you were her everything. Jude stared blankly at the wall, still feeling the last chill of Shachath run down her spine. "Thank you," she told to Shachath who heard Jude from far away. And Jude thank her, for she knew all too well that Shachath had a hand in this today—the angel always finding a way to keep her alive.

But more importantly, she kept you alive—Shachath allowed Jude to have the only happiness she had ever know. She let her have you.

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I had a bit of a difficult time writing it, but I hope it ended up alright.

Song I listened to while reading: Shachath—Angel of Death Theme: watch?v=46UUl9ZUC6k


	5. Chapter 5

v

Sister Jude and you had never made it to Connecticut. Not even a Church of God was more important than saving yourselves. After your captors had died, the Angel of Death bringing them a death that was perhaps too kind for their sins (though that was not for you to judge), Sister Jude and you had knocked down the door, huffing and groaning, crying and shrieking in elation. You two had finally been free! But then came the task of finding your way out of the dilapidated building which smelt of piss and mold. The ancient floorboards creaked underneath your feet as you two wandered the upper floor, and you could still remember the look on Judy's face as she ran outside, her hands up in the air and a smile on her face which was splattered with brown, clotted blood. She spun around, and inhaled the clean air of outside, and it was as if with every breath she took, God went in through her lips, was soaked up by her lungs and flowed into her veins.

You smiled, chuckling to yourself, wiping away the last of your tears. "It's time to leave," you remembered saying to her, "Come on, let's find the car they drove us in and get to a police station."

"Oh, just give me one goddamned moment to enjoy this." She told you, looking up at the sky, the dawn breaking in an explosion of oranges and pinks against the indigo blue of the fading night.

"Enjoy what?" you asked her, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her toward you.

"The feeling of knowing that there is a God," she whispered, her hands moving down to clasp over your own, "and that He can sometimes be good."

You rested your head against her shoulder, inhaling her scent. You felt her tears roll down her neck and onto your face, and you kissed her neck, lapping up her tears with your tongue. You knew God could be good the moment he had blessed you with her.

After the initial interrogation of both you and Sister Jude, the police had believed that you were psychopathic nuns. However, the coroner had come up with the results that one had died from a heart attack and the other, not of the stab to the heart, but of a brain aneurism. Thus, they were let go and Monsignor Timothy Howard had picked them up from the police station personally, half out of his wits, but still managing to spread the grace of God, kind words and a bright smile on his face. He had proclaimed, upon seeing both Jude and you, that your escape had been a God-given miracle.

* * *

Walking through Briarcliff for the first time in what felt like a lifetime and then some, you sighed. You looked through each slit in the patients' doors, dead eyes staring at you, men whipping shit as you walked passed their _rooms._ You held your breath, telling yourself that you could breathe once you exited this section of the building. You hadn't usually worked patrol duty, but since your return Sister Jude had decided to give your harsh treatment so as to keep other Sisters from sticking their noses where they don't belong.

"Fucking whore," one patient spat at you, cackling and throwing his head back. You watched him dance wildly in his room. Even those slits were gave too much room to observe.

You faced forward; biting your lip and feeling yourself grow numb. You walked faster, rushing through the door and into the hall, the door slamming shut behind you. Your back slammed against the door as you gasped for air, yearning to scream. Oh, how right he was. You were a whore.

A guard saw you standing against the door. "Was one of them causing you any trouble?"

"Room twelve. Send him to Jude." You lifted your hand and waved it halfheartedly. You moved away from the door and let the guard walk in. Each footstep he took sounded like the crack of a cane against the flesh of some poor soul's ass.

Not knowing what to do and unwilling to go to bed, you walked aimlessly through the halls. At night, you could sometimes hear faint notes of Dominique play in the background. Every sound sent shivers down your spine, every creak made you jump, every slightest hint of another's voice made you grab at the cross that hung around your neck. The feeling of terror was not something that you had known very well until you had begun working at Briarcliff.

Breath, icy and sharp hit the skin of your neck. You yelped out, your heart jumping out of your chest.

"I apologize if I've frightened you, Sister (Name). I do swear that that was not my intention," the Monsignor spoke, putting his hand on your shoulder, patting it lightly in an attempt to comfort you.

"It's quite alright, Monsignor."

"Timothy. We've gone over this, you may call me Timothy," he uttered in a low, husky voice that was just above a whisper.

Though there was something unsettling about him, his voice had had an effect you in that instant, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. "Yes, right, Timothy," you stuttered, turning around slowly to face him.

There was a want in his eyes, a sort of hunger. He would eat you alive, if he could, like a cannibal. He would ravage you completely, in ways that would make even God look away. His eyes spoke to you in ways that his words never could communicate. "I wanted to make sure that you have readjusted yourself to Briarcliff. It worried me deeply when I received the phone call from the police." His hand moved toward you, but he quickly put it to his side and internally chastised himself.

"Yes, I believe that I've readjusted myself well. Thank you for checking up on me, Monsignor." You averted your gaze, refusing to look him in the eyes, for they had sparkled with a red lust that would invade your veins and creep into places you did not desire it to rest. The way he stared at you made you feel both weak in the knees and like you wanted to jump out of your skin. These impure thoughts made you feel like you were betraying Jude.

"Usually I have dinner with Sister Jude; however, I was thinking that perhaps you would like to join us this evening. Perhaps, we can celebrate the miracle God blessed you and Jude with, allowing you both to escape alive," under the warmth of his voice, was something that begged, as if each word had been delivered on its hands and knees, crawling to you, kissing your feet.

"That would be lovely," you said, thanking God that Jude would be there as well. It hadn't occurred to you then, that perhaps you would have difficult controlling the chemistry which attracted you to Jude during the dinner.

"Dinner starts at half six, and Jude will cook dinner for the three of us. We will eat in the kitchen." He walked away from you, nodding and smiling at you before he left.

* * *

It was nearing six, and you had grown restless as time had passed. You had watched the hands of the clock in your room move painstakingly slowly, hoping that time would leap forward, but that, alas, was impossible. Feeling a stirring in your loins that your fingers could not settle, you hopped up from your bed. Adjusting your habit you walked toward your draws and rummaged through them as you searched for the one item in your room that you should have thrown away the day you had took your vows. A bottle of perfume lay underneath your demure nightgowns. Daringly, you opened the bottle and sprayed it lightly on your neck. The perfume smelled like raindrops on rose petals on your skin.

You paced around your room, arguing with yourself, sometimes even aloud. "She's in the kitchen, you know." You began, but quickly countered yourself. "But who knows who else is in there?" You stopped momentarily, deciding to read the scripture, but then turned around and continued to argue with yourself aloud. "But, she will send them away, once she sees you of course." You retorted impishly. "But anyone can come and go. What if you get caught?" The worry in your voice saturated the room. And then, you dived onto your bed, buried your head into the pillow and screamed. It was a muffled, frustrated scream, but the sound of it did not satisfy your anger. Would that you could, you would have climbed the stairs of Briarcliff to the roof and screamed there, for the whole world to hear.

"Oh, Judy," you sighed, flopping onto your side before leaping out of bed and going mindlessly to the kitchen.

You performed the sign of the cross once you saw the kitchen was empty, save for Jude, whose habit was on the floor at her feet, her sumptuous, blonde hair a mess on her head, sticking to her sweat stained forehead. "Damnit, two much wine," she grumbled underneath her breath, stirring furiously.

Soundlessly, you walked toward her, all the time laughing to yourself. In your opinion, she was beyond adorable like this, frustrated and out of her element—usually having completely control, now wondering what to do about a dish she could have nearly ruined.

At the feel of human contact, she jumped, yelping in surprise. You had wrapped your arms around her waist, and naughtily whispered dirty things in her ear, "I wish you would cook dinner for me, though I do prefer the desert you provide." You nipped at her ear, and she moaned out involuntarily, forgetting where you both were.

"Vixen," she husked, "Don't force me to punish you."

"Punishment sounds absolutely _delicious_. Tell me, do you serve it while in the nude?"

Jude switched the stove to low and turned sharply, pushing to you the table that was feet behind you. "Strip," she commanded, her voice lethal.

Your habit was removed in seconds and discarded. You were left in your white slip, which you began to remove, but she stopped you.

"Oh, no, no, no." She hummed, and then moved in to kiss you, sucking on your bottom lip, then biting down hard and drawing blood. You moaned in ecstasy. Jude could make pain turn into pleasure, and pleasure into pain. "Now, bend over the table."

You did as asked, and then waited. You heard the sound of her heals clicking against the tile floor, and you counted every step. It seemed as if it were ages that Jude spent walking. She walked toward you slowly, and you closed your eyes, waiting for her bare hand to slap you ass over and over until you were left with bruises in the shape of her hand.

To your delight, you instead felt the hardness of a wooden spoon hit your ass, and you moaned out in ecstasy. She waited a moment before she began to drag the spoon against your ass lightly, teasing you maddeningly. "You shouldn't moan, darling. We wouldn't want anyone thinking that we're performing unholy acts, now would we?" The spoon hit your ass again, this time sharply. "Now, count for me."

You suppressed the urge to moan at the sound of her sultry voice. Her Boston accent was luscious, thick, and the mere sound of it made you wet. "One," you whispered against the table, and continued counting. "Twelve!" you shouted, but then she stopped, and you both held your breaths until you saw that no one had heard, and therefore no one would barge in asking about the ruckus. "Come on, baby, give me more," you begged breathily.

"Turn over on you back," she commanded, a domineering glimmer in her eyes. The moment you were on your back, she climbed onto the table, over you. She let her habit ride up her legs as she straddled you, and she bent over you, planting a sweet kiss on your lips. "You're better than dessert," she whispered against you lips, and cupping your womanhood with her hand. You bucked against her, unable to control the strong impulse.

"Please," you begged her. You felt like you were so close to coming. Her fingers rubbed over the fabric covering your clit, and you dipped you head back, sighing her name in pleasure. You felt it begin to crash into you, the climax, as you squirmed beneath her. You incoherently spoke words of adoration to her and kissed her fervently. Just as it came to you, it was taken away, her hand sliding off of you. You felt on the brink of tears, unsatisfied and frustrated.

"Do you know how difficult it would be for me to sit at this table, next to you, and eat dinner with you and the Monsignor?" she whispered dangerously into your ear. "Don't you know how hard it will be for me to not throw the food that we will be eating off of this table, and to take you right here, and defile the surface where we are given our daily bread?" She licked your neck, leaving a thin trail of her saliva to glisten on your skin.

"Then take me right now," you pleaded, but when she did not move, you flipped her onto her back, and you began to kiss her, pinning her hands down onto the table above her head. But Jude was dangerous, like a viper, and she quickly overpowered you, tumbling off of the table and onto the floor, taking you with her.

"Don't you dare!" she yelled, pulling at the middle of your habit, exposing your bare, slipless, body. She took your breasts into her hand and pinched your rosebud nipples with her forefingers and thumbs. "You've been naughty, Sister," she chastised you lustfully.

You shook beneath her, completely entranced by her dominance. You would crawl the halls of Briarcliff nude and carry documents to her with your teeth, if she asked you to. You would allow her to tie your body to her desk with bindings made of rose stems and thorns—oh how you would bleed for her!—and you would let her torture you however she chose to. Dear God, you would do anything for her, as long as you could have her. She was you religion, the reason you would wear a habit every day and devote yourself to her and the church of lust and pleasure and sex she created for the two of you.

But, instead of giving you the release you had prayed for, she stood from you and left you on the floor, simply saying, "We'll finish this later," before returning to the pot of food that had been left to sit on the stove. "Too bad, I can't use the spoon anymore (Name)," she said, picking up the spoon that had lain at the foot of the table. "I don't want the Monsignor having the pleasure of tasting you too."

Her words left you trembling, half-naked on the floor, watching her with a burning fire in your eyes.

* * *

The dinner began with Grace, which the Monsignor spoke reverently, with compassion in his voice and true thanks. You wondered if he prayed this way normally—with such gratitude to God. He offered you a glass of wine which you accepted graciously, but refrained from asking Sister Jude. It had not passed you that Jude had stared at your glass of wine, for a moment, licking her lips briefly. But, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, as if she had forced herself to not ask for a glass. You would have asked her about this, but decided that it was an inappropriate time and made a mental note to ask her later.

Minutes passed and not a word was said between the three of you, though the Monsignor had opened has mouth to say something but quickly changed his mind and would close his mouth almost instantaneously on several occasions.

Jude kept her eye on the Monsignor, and when she deemed that he was not paying much attention to what she was doing, she slid her hand onto you knee and squeezed it gently. "How have you been, Monsignor?" she asked with warm smile on her face. Her pearly white teeth looked beautiful framed by her pink lips.

"I've been quite alright, and you Jude?" He seemed transfixed in the meal, and before he could give her time to answer his questions, he spoke, "This is absolutely delicious! Truly, Sister Jude, you are a phenomenal cook."

She suppressed a giggle, "Thank you, I am glad that you appreciate my cooking." Her hand moved up your thigh, and you swore that if you had worn pants instead of your habit, her hand would have been farther up your habit.

"Mmm, and (Name), how have you been?" The Monsignor asked, looking up from his plate.

Sister Jude's hand immediately fell from you thigh. "Very well, thank you."

He smiled at you and then turned to Jude. "I apologize that I must do this to you so soon after having such a frightening incident occur, but I was hoping that you would consider it anyway."

"Anything, Monsignor, would be alright. God had saved me from almost certain death, and I must thank him in any way that I can."

"If that is the case, would you be willing to perhaps go to facilitate the transportation of a patient to Briarcliff? Now, I understand that they are usually brought to us, but in this unique case, there is a, well a microcephalic woman who has been imprisoned. Now, those handling her case are divided on how to handle her."

"And you believe that she should come here?" Sister Jude asked, moving closer to Monsignor Howard, even spreading her legs open slightly. You noticed the apparent attraction she had for the Monsignor, though you noticed that he was ignorant, or at least in denial, of the fact that Sister Jude was attracted to him,

"I believe that through prayer and repent that she can achieve healing. Sending her to the electric chair will be a one way ticket to Hell for her."

"I see no problem in handling her case," Jude uttered sweetly.

"Yes, however, you would have to go to travel to Florida and would be gone for a couple of weeks."

"Then, perhaps, if it would be alright with you, I could bring an assistant with me." She turned away from him and wiped her mouth with the napkin that had once lain on her lap. She looked to you for a moment, and smiled slightly.

"Who do you have in mind?"

"(Name) has become instrumental in my administration of Briarcliff, and I believe that she would be perfect for this mission of sorts." Sister Jude, when she spoke, was eloquent, each word picked for a specific reason.

"I would have to refuse your request then. You see, Jude, the nuns have taken notice of your favoring of (Name). Perhaps, instead of taking her with you, we should allow her to keep an eye on Briarcliff in your absence, as you had said—she is instrumental in your administration of Briarcliff and would therefore know how you operate."

Jude had the urge to fight, a natural instinct of sorts. She suffered a moment of sheer conflict where her more rash side began to take over. She moved to stand momentarily, but coming to her senses, she sat down. "I actually had Sister Mary Eunice in mind, Monsignor. I thought that she would benefit from an increase in responsibilities. It would teach her maturity, something I believe that she is desperately lacking in."

"Now, Sister, perhaps you are overestimating your position in this institution, as it is not your sole decision on how Briarcliff is run." His voice had an edge to it, and his brown eyes grew dark as if a storm was brewing in them.

"I must apologize for my interjection, but perhaps, I should leave considering that this dinner has taken a more serious turn," you suggested, though the moment you had spoken Sister Jude placed her hand on your thigh and squeezed it tightly, telling you that if you dared to leave she would crucify you with her bare hands.

"As this does concern you now, I believe that you should stay." He sighed and looked to the corner of the room, trying to distract himself from the thoughts running through his mind. He could not refuse the beauty you possessed, even wearing the holy garments that rendered you reserved. "But, I must apologize. Though you have not said it, I know that you have thought it. Sister Jude and I should not be arguing about something that can only bring good about." He pushed his plate aside and folded his hands onto the table. "Perhaps, as you have said, Sister Mary Eunice does need more responsibilities. I shall make this her project, and will leave you to your regular duties."

Jude twitched once in frustration before taking her fork into her hand and continuing her dinner, "A wise decision, Monsignor," she muttered underneath her breath.

The rest of the dinner was completed in silence and Sister Jude was the first to leave, expressing that she was tired and had to wake up early in order to inform Sister Mary Eunice of her new duty. The Monsignor had mixed feelings on this, feeling the need to apologize to her, though he felt that she had crossed a line in being so adamant that _you_ had to be her assistant.

The door closed behind her softly with a nearly inaudible click. You smiled to the Monsignor, unsure of what to say and whether or not you should follow Jude to her bedroom. You wanted to comfort her, to feel her skin against your own and make love into the wee hours of the night. But more importantly, you wanted to remind her that she wanted you, and you wanted to make her forget her attraction to the Monsignor.

You were dragged out of your thoughts when the Monsignor placed his hand on top of yours. You hadn't noticed until then, but he had moved to where Sister Jude had sat previously.

"Timothy!" you breathed in surprise.

"I'm sorry, I keep startling you."

"No, it's fine… I just…" You could not deny that Timothy was attractive, and you knew what Sister Jude saw in him, but you and Jude were together, and it was wrong to want someone else.

He rubbed circles into your hand with his thumb idly, thinking of what to say to you. "Perhaps we should not have dinner together, anymore," he suggested quietly, sadness saturating his voice.

"It would be wise, I believe," you agreed. Despite your words, your face neared his. Your mind screamed Jude's name, but your lips silently spoke his.

"Our vows," he spoke, his lips brushing against yours barely.

You stumbled out of your chair, running as fast as your legs would take you, away from the Monsignor. You ran into your room and looked upon the crucifix that hung on your wall. You swore that Christ was mocking you on that wall, laughing at your indiscretions. You had become a nun to save yourself from the whorish life you had lived, but look where you were now, bringing others down to your level.

You collapsed onto the floor beneath the crucifix, and began to breathe heavily. Your limbs grew numb as your breaths staggered. Hyperventilating, you moaned out in agony. And in the end, you could not apologize to God, because you weren't sure whether or not he would want to hear your apologies. They were, after all, meaningless, because you never repented. You had become an indulgent sinner. No, in the end, you could only apologize to one person, though they were not there to listen. "I'm sorry Judy, I'm so sorry." You lied there on the floor, shaking from the turmoil you were in, feeling as if you were on a ceaseless downward spiral, "I love you, Judy, don't you know? But I'm a whore, and I don't know how to keep my pants on, much less my habit. And I'm so sorry for my thoughts. I'm so sorry for bringing you into my whorish world. I'm so sorry that I'm jealous of you even though you never did anything, when you should be the one that is jealous of me. Judy, tell me you forgive me." But, she wasn't there to answer you. "Judy," you whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek, exhaustion biting at you until it consumed you and you were transported to your nightmares where Judy left you, because she realized you were just a common whore.

* * *

A/N: I apologize about the wait for this update! I hope that the length and the goings-on of this chapter makes up for the wait. Thank you for the lovely, lovely reviews.

Song that I listened to while writing this: Daughter—Smother: watch?v=JDZaiM8oAOU


	6. Chapter 6

vi

The guilt you had harbored had tortured you for days on end. It had escalated to the point where you could no longer face Jude, because every time you would look into her deep brown eyes, you would think of how you couldn't bear to bring tears to something so beautiful. You were slowly losing your grip on whatever sense of control you had left. Perhaps you had made a mistake in pursuing Jude, but you were gone too far to go back on all you had made with her. Still, the new sense of want you had developed for Timothy made you feel that you should leave Jude before you hurt her inadvertently.

You found yourself in a place you never thought you would have to be in, not since you had become a nun. God knew all you had done, but still you needed council, and so as you sat in the confessional, you sighed. Timothy would sometimes offer council here, but he was not there that day, yet you had chosen to come anyway. You needed to talk, even if there was no one there to listen to you.

"Forgive me for I have sinned," you spoke, pressing your hands against the brass wire that divided the confessional. As you expected, there was no reply. "I'm in love with woman. I know that trysts between the same sex are considered unholy, but I've never known something more beautiful than her touch. How could something so perfect be considered unholy?" You closed your eyes, pondering carefully on what you would say next. There were no words for half of what you felt, and for the other half of what you felt, the words you could say were too painful to utter.

"At the same time, I feel tempted to pursue another man. He's of the cloth, as am I, and so is the woman I love. I'm neck deep in sin and so close to drowning. I was a whore my entire life, and in retrospect I realize that becoming a Sister was me running from my problems instead of facing them. Wearing a habit doesn't take away what's between my goddamned legs." You breathed in heavily through your nose, biting your lip, "Despite all of this, I still want to be with her, more than anything. I just wish that I was certain that I could remain faithful to her."

Then you heard a rustling from the other side of the confessional, and you gasped in shock. You felt the urge to run, but if you ran, you would only be seen. You sat, frozen and unsure of what to do next. The door to the confessional opened, a bright light creeping in and nearly blinding you. You winced, holding your arms up in front of your face, your hands trembling with trepidation.

"Be quiet," you heard Jude's voice whisper to you followed by the sound of the door closing behind her. "I'm not sure what I should say to you," she began, but her words led to nowhere. Instead, her actions spoke to you as she climbed onto you, her lips landing on your own. There was a certain fury to her passion, all-consuming. It had a dizzying effect on you.

Her hands wrapped around your neck, and she pressed your body against the wall of the confessional; you pulled away from her, gasping for air. "Jude!" you choked out.

She released you immediately but with no hint of remorse. "I want you two understand two things: one—you are mine and only mine, and two—you will never call yourself a whore again. Do you understand?" Her hands had already made their way to unbutton you habit, revealing the black slip that you had worn underneath.

"Yes!" you gasped, and then your lips attacked hers.

In the tight confessional, you stripped each other of your clothing. Completely naked, you stared at her, feeling vulnerable for only a moment before remembering that she too was nude in front of you. "Do you know how beautiful you are?" you asked her, putting your hands onto her hips and bringing her closer to you.

"Not as beautiful as you," she muttered against your lips. Her body was the color of milk, her skin smooth and creamy. Her breasts fit perfectly in your hands, and her nipples looked ever-so-pinch-able. You wanted to greedily taste all of her, even the sweat dripping down her neck that would come when she would climax.

Her hand slid down to your clitoris, and she began to massage it slowly, attentively. She had made this motion into an art—it was a sweet torture that made you go wild with need. You felt as if you were vibrating beneath her, heat consuming you. "I love you," you whispered into her ear when she quickened the pace of her finger. She rose slightly, giving you the opportunity to take the nipple of her right breast into your mouth.

Your tongue rubbed dangerous circles into it, and she in response, arched her back into you, moaning softly. "You're a goddess," she hissed, feeling a pleasure she had long denied herself.

She buried one hand in your head, tugging at your (hair color) locks. Your dipped your head backwards and she brought her face down to yours. Your noses touched; your lips close to each other's. She pulled you hair when you leaned in to kiss her. "Tell me you're mine," she demanded, but when you remained quiet, she removed her hand from your clit and slapped your backside. "Come on," she whined, "tell me you're mine."

You purposely resisted, instead taking your hand and placing it on her clit. Her hips bucked against yours, her hand falling from your hair as she melted into a state of pure ecstasy. "Goddamnit, you know I'm yours. Why won't you say that you're mine?" Her fingernails dug into your shoulders, breaking the skin. Blood dripped down your back, as you continued to pleasure her. It drove her wild that she couldn't control herself around you, not truly. Even though she asserted her dominance, you were the one who was truly in control. Your every move dictated how she would act; your every word determined what would escape from her lips.

"How can you say that you're mine when I've seen how you look at Timothy, huh?" You stuck a finger into her as your thumb continued to rub circles into your clit. "What about how your eyes devour him every time you catch a glimpse of him?"

"You're no saint either," she countered, "Didn't you say that you want him too? Come on, what did you do? Did you fuck him, you bitch?!" She kissed you then, biting down on your lip, hard.

You ripped away from her, and pushed her off of you. "I want you to make me bleed," you told her, standing and pushing her to the brass-wired gate that served as a divider between the two halves of the confessional.

This time, she bit down on your lips hard, until she drew blood and bruised your lips. You knew they would be blue the next day, but you didn't give a damn. You wanted her to scar you, to mark you as hers. "You want to know what I did, Sister?"

She wrapped a leg around you, trapping you against her. "Can he fuck you as sweetly as I can?" She pushed herself from the wall, bringing you down with her. You both fell to the ground, your buttocks against the cold, stone floor of the confessional.

She pushed you down so that your back would be against the floor and your womanhood facing her, only inches away from her mouth. Her hands held you up, supporting your back. "Can he make you burn with lust?" she questioned, her voice saturated with need. Her mouth met your clit. Her tongue was even more skilled than her fingers.

Your muscles clenched, heat spreading throughout your core. Your hand dared to wander to her clit, your fingers just long enough to reach it. Your immediately began to assault her clit, your fingers moving at a rapid pace. It made her grow dizzy, falling between states of consciousness and unconsciousness.

"Jude!" you yelled out, climaxing, your fingers rubbing her even harder and bringing her to climax with you. It shook you completely, tears rolling down your cheeks when after what felt like an eternity spent on the clouds of heaven came to a close.

She released your back, and your buttocks fell into her lap. She watched you, seeing your face hazily. Pushing you off of her, she stood up, looking at you with tears filled in her eyes. She dressed in silence, as you laid in the confessional, baffled. "Aren't you mine, (Name)?" she asked once she was fully dressed, adjusting her veil to cover her hair better.

Your finger ran over the cut on your lip that she had left there and made there with her own teeth, "Yours, always," you answered. But, it was too late as she had gone, leaving you without the chance to speak.

* * *

Inhaling sharply, Sister Jude watched through the window of her office. In the window, she could see the reflection of her swollen, tear-stained face, staring back at her with a backdrop of grey and purple clouds. She sat in a black dress and her blonde tresses free from her usual veil. She contemplated whether or not she should leave, to seek council from Mother Claudia. But every time she made an attempt to go, she would stop herself, telling herself that she had a duty to the Monsignor to continue her work here, at Briarcliff. However, she could no longer bear the sight of you. Each and every time you would come into her vision, she would feel her own heart shatter into a million pieces. Despite having known you only for a brief time, she had come to love you quickly. It was as if there was an all-consuming force between the both of you— that attracted her to you and you to her. The sight of you was only a reminder of that force, one that she now hoped she could be rid of, but knew she never would.

She turned, sighing. A bottle of communion wine that she had brought up to her office laid on her desk, mocking her. She could almost taste the rich, divine taste of the alcohol against her lips. Her hand shook as she reached toward it, daring to drink, more than willing to break the sobriety she had nearly killed herself to achieve. You had plagued her mind like an illness that she could not emerge from; you had plagued her more completely than alcohol ever had. You were like an addiction; absolutely all of you was her new addiction, your breath, your body so sweet.

If she had allowed herself any dignity, she wouldn't have kept track of the time that had passed, or the days that have gone without pressing her lips unto yours. But she could say, with full, bitter confidence that nine days had passed since, and those nine days had been the harshest Hell she had ever known.

While Jude hesitated to drink the wine, she thought back to the day you had ripped her heart from her chest. She could remember, sitting in the confessional, hiding. She had to escape the madness of the asylum, even if it had been only for a moment. And so, she had hid in the one place where no one would come to look for her. If only she had known that you would wander into the confessional, distraught and needing to pour your woes out, Jude would never have hid there in the first place.

Nevertheless, she still chose to hide in the darkness where she felt most comfortable, away from all of her fears and all of the pain. Popping the cork off of the bottle of wine, she sobbed softly. She could already smell the tart liquid, her mind already on fire with need. Her tongue, drier than ever, begged her to drink. She toasted, to you, a sour smile on her face, "To you, (Name)," she whispered to the image of you she had conjured in her mind's eye, sitting across from her.

The pitter patter of rain and booming thunder served as a melancholic melody playing in the background, playing to the tune of her very soul, breaking to pieces and falling into disarray. _Why can't she love me?_ Jude asked herself, unraveling as she imbibed more of the honeyed poison. The more she drank, the more she began to lose herself. Not having drank in years, she found it quite a bit easier than before to succumb to the grip of alcohol which dragged her down to the deepest, blackest depths of a sea that made her forget her troubles, at least for a little while. Even so, when the bottle was dried, all of its contents in her belly, she could still hear your name, and she could still feel your wandering touch on her body, though neither were there. Even through all of the darkness, you laid at the end of it, in the only ounce of light she had left, waiting to drag her out whenever she decided to reach out for help.

* * *

You woke up, reaching out for a body that was not there. The bed, with no one there but you, felt empty and cold. It was early in the morning, perhaps not even five, but the thunder outside your window woke you. At least, that was what you told yourself—that it wasn't the dream of Jude which had haunted you that woke you. You tossed and turned, trying to fall asleep, but the sound of the rain falling outside made you feel unsettled, as if the rain outside would turn into tears running down your cheeks. Never before had you felt heartbreak so sharp and thorough. If it weren't for your pride, or perhaps it was your shame, you would have followed after Jude, fully naked, breasts bouncing with every step you took. You would have chased after her and told her that you were hers. You would have run out like a whore and condemned yourself to make all of Briarcliff know who you belonged to. But only in retrospect did you realize all you would have sacrificed for her—for it was only after she was gone, that came to know that you couldn't manage to live without her.

Huffing, you rose from you bed and lurched to your drawer, digging through it to find a decent enough robe to wrap around yourself. You could not wait until the morning; you needed to speak to Jude, even if it meant walking through the halls of Briarcliff in your silken slip and risking getting caught by the Monsignor. _Screw him,_ you thought as you pulled your on yourself. With each step you took, you fought an exhaustion which had gripped you since your falling out with Jude. It was as if the event had sucked the breath of life out of you, leaving you a husk of your former vitality and vibrance. Each thought that passed through your mind was passed haphazardly— _will Sister Jude kick me out of her room before I get the chance to speak to her? God knows. Ha, but, if I ask him he won't answer me. Does she still love me? Of course she fucking does. Is risking all to be with her worth all the punishments that might come afterward? I'm insane. What if someone finds out? To hell with it, it doesn't matter._ You spoke to yourself in your head, sarcastically and bitterly, nonchalantly but boldly. There was a madness in you, a wildness in you, which governed how you operated. You were a danger to yourself now, like you had been before you had become a nun, your actions risqué and carnal, but deliberate and salacious. The gold band on your finger that pledged you to God and only God meant nothing when your heart pumped for Jude, when your soul yearned for Jude. It meant nothing when your cooch ached for Jude, begged for Jude. And it certainly meant nothing when God would watch you and Jude sin like the human you were, with wild abandon and disregard for the Almighty Lord which saw all and knew all.

Which is why, in the end, you found yourself in Jude's office, stunned at the sight before you. Gone was your chance to mentally prepare yourself to speak to her, to beg to her. Gone was your opportunity to turn back had you so chosen to. In front of you sat Jude in her chair, laughing painfully at the sight of you. An empty bottle of communion wine sat on her desk; you recalled the numerous times she had rejected imbibing, but now she had gone passed imbibing and entered a state of complete inebriation, drunk and smelling heavily of alcohol.

Her eyes were clouded from the alcohol and her hair was a mess, but still to you she looked beautiful—but she looked beautiful in a fragile way that broke your heart. "J-Judy," you stammered, her name feeling almost foreign off of your tongue.

"It's nice of you to stop by, but if you're looking for the Monsignor I can tell you he's not under my skirt. Have you tried looking under yours?" Anguish saturated her voice, the pain of her heart seeping through all she was.

To you, her words were venomous slap to the face that stung more than any physical attack ever could. "You're drunk," you spoke blatantly, unsure of what to say.

"How nice of you to notice," she remarked, rising from her chair stood shakily and sauntered over to you. "And do you want to know why I'm drunk?" she whispered, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling your body to you. Her lips brushed against your cheek, sending chills down your spine. "It's from all the pain suffered and the mistakes I've made because of you. It's because I want to forget your godforsaken face so that I can breathe for once."

"Judy, get off of me. I came here to talk to you, but I see that you're in no state fit for talking. Let me take you to your room so that you can sleep this off."

She pushed you to the door, your back hitting the door handle. "I don't want to sleep this off," she rasped, "I want to make you know how much you hurt me. I want you to feel the pain that I feel." She kissed you then, the hurt her heart held flowing into you. Tears feel from her cheeks, and she moved her head, placing her cheek against your lips, forcing you to taste her tears. "Does it break your heart as much as it broke mine?"

"Please don't do this," you begged, your chest feeling the stabbing of a knife, over and over, mutilating the very organ which controlled the most powerful feelings of all. "You broke my heart to with all your stares at _him_. You broke my heart with how your eyes devoured _him_." Your hands found themselves at her hips and your fingers dug into the fabric of her dress. "I'm not the only one who's wronged."

"Then why couldn't you tell me that you're mine when I could tell you that I'm yours?" She nuzzled your neck and dropped her hands to your shoulders, gripping you tightly so as to not let your run away—from her and from her question. "Huh, what about that?"

"I am yours, Judy. I love you," your voice barely a whisper. "I'm forever yours," you choked out as a sob, falling limp against the door. Could you shatter like a vase hitting the ground, you would, but instead you felt the ceaseless sensation of shattering within yourself. "And I'm so sorry I hurt you, but you hurt me too. I love you so much," the words were barely coherent behind your sobs.

"You're in pain, baby," she breathed, her lips brushing up against yours. "Tell me where it hurts. I want to make you feel so good."

You took her hand and placed it on top of your left breast, over your heart. "Right there."

She pulled your robe off, and using her teeth, she slid the strap of your slip off of your shoulder so that your breast popped out of it. Her lips met your left breast, and she with ardor kissed it, whispering to your heart, "I love you."

* * *

A/N: I hope you liked this chapter! I have to admit that I cried a bit while writing this one.

Song I listened to while writing: Bobby Blue Band: Cry, Cry, Cry— watch?v=sNrxz-A19WY


	7. Chapter 7

vii

Smoke rolled from Jude's lips into the air as you both sat in her bed, naked and glistening in sweat. You rested your head on her shoulder, inhaling the muddled scent of her; but, through the smell of cigarettes the scent of her skin was sweet, like vanilla cookies hot from the oven. Smiling against her shoulder, you began to laugh. "I feel so drunk off of you," you giggled, kissing her shoulder gently.

"Tell me something about you," you demanded almost childishly, rubbing your cheek over her shoulder. "I know so little about you."

"I was a singer once," she stated blandly, as if her past profession had lost its allure to her completely.

"How was it, with all the bright lights shining on you?" You played with her hair, twirling it between your fingertips. "I bet you looked beautiful on the stage."

"I sang in dingy little bars and entered through the back along with my band. I sang with a colored group. I don't care what people say about them—they sure know how to play their horns. They were so good to me, but I was shit for them."

"You didn't answer the question," you stated teasingly.

"To tell you the truth, I was too plastered to remember half of my career, if you could call it that." She dipped her head down to your neck and kissed your collar bone sweetly. "Did I ever tell you that I liked the term 'starving artist'?" She blew cool air onto your neck and watched the goosebumps form on your skin. "Starving is right—for the bottle."

Taking your chin into her hand, she pulled your face to hers and teasingly brushed her lips against yours. You could still taste the wine on her lips, but to your pleasure you could taste yourself on her lips too. "Were you an alcoholic?" you ask brashly, almost immediately regretting your impetuousness.

Jude pushed you away from her, sighing deeply. She lay still for a moment, the ashes on her cigarette falling onto the floor. Unable to look at your face, she stood from the bed, the cigarette that was once in her hand now on the floor. She walked over it, wincing at the pain of the burn on the sole of her feet. She shook from the remnants of the alcohol coursing through her veins. She swore that it burned inside of her, like hellish fires, scalding her from the inside.

Her naked body glowed in the dim light of her room, her skin like a white beacon, her curves like the mountains on which the pastures of the good shepherd and his ship lived, tumbling and luscious. Her golden locks shimmered like a halo around her head. She paced around the room, an ethereal beauty that intrigued you, allured you. But when she turned, you saw the pain upon her face and the regret of a thousand lives carved as the wrinkles of time on her face.

"We were all alcoholics, the Martins," she laughed wryly, "We didn't need medicine or therapy. We didn't need love or sympathy. Fuck it all, we had the bottle and it was all we needed. Have a problem you can't solve? Bourbon. Someone broke your heart? The whiskey's under the sink. Someone do you wrong? Vodka's on the three-legged table and there's brandy if nothing else.

"Growing up, I went to church sometimes. Across the street was a bar, and the priest would say, 'That's where sinners go'. But my momma would turn to me and say, 'You really want ta know why the bar's across the street?' I would say, with childish curiosity and glee, 'Yes!' She would look at me, with her bloodshot eyes, and laugh a little, 'It's there for when God doesn't answer your prayers the way you want him to, Judy' And she would laugh like she had never said anything funnier. Back then, I'd laugh too cause I didn't understand. Oh, but now I do, (Name)." She nodded slowly to herself, staring off past you. "Now I understand."

"Did you become a nun—because of the drinking?" you asked in a whisper, your heart lurching in your chest for her, beating like a hammer against the bones and tissue that held it in your chest.

"Yeah, you could say that," she uttered breathily. Walking over to her dresser, she fished out a silky white slip. "Normally, I would probably make you leave right about now so we wouldn't get caught. But to tell you the truth, right now I don't give a shit." She slipped the slip over her head and you watched as it slid down her body. "I don't want to wake up with nothingness on the other side of my bed in the morning."

The lights flickered off and you inhaled deeply as you listened to her steps approach you. She fell into the bed, sighing, and pulled the covers over herself. Seconds that felt as if they were two eternities passed where nothing happened and the both of you held your breaths, waiting for, wondering about what would happen next. Judy pulled you toward her, her arm around your waist. You surrendered to her touch. Spooning in the darkness of her room, eventually you drifted to sleep with a smile on your face but tears trapped in your eyelids.

From then on, you often slept in Judy's room; every night after midnight you would sneak into her room. Now that you had grown accustomed to being this close to her, you found that the times you weren't with her, you were left with a sense of emptiness that frightened you. Without her by your side, food lost its taste, the world lost its beauty, life lost its luster—it seemed without her, the world became a monotonous shade of grey. With her, the atrocity and claustrophobic entity that Briarcliff was became a universe filled with wonder. The narrow hallways and chilling air became fields of lilies to you, never-ending, blissful happiness. Her smile alone could make you forget the patients, rocking back and forth on the floor, screaming and throwing dung. Her touch could make you forget everything, including the unholy sides of her.

And, it wasn't until Lana Winters came that you were reminded of how lethal she was.

* * *

Lana Winters was what women at home envisioned they could be some day. She had a sense of urgency about her, though, like she had to rise to the top no matter what the cost. She looked at the patriarchal structure of society and spat in its face. She was ambitious and had grit. Nevertheless, she was no match for Jude. Jude had something she didn't have, some je ne sais quoi that made her fearless and powerful. It was the same thing that had made you once quake under your habit, and it stung more than the crack of her cane against a bare ass.

The day the brunette had come, Sister Jude warned her that she was treading unsafe waters, but she was reckless and rash. It was the same day Kit Walker had come into the establishment for safe keeping, and you remembered the occurrence well. You could still see Lana running after Jude with determination emanating from her body, questioning her about the serial killer with wild abandon. It was then that you had heard Jude call her a nickname that sent chills down your spine, 'Lana-banana', and you swore you could see Lana's body strewn dead across the floor beneath Jude's feet in that moment. Jude wasted no time in removing Lana from Briarcliff after her true intentions were revealed.

Nevertheless, she had returned as fast as she could—she needed a story, she needed _the_ story. Kit was her one-way ticket to journalistic fame, and she craved the chance to see him, to stare the killer in the eyes and make the world know him through her pen. That was her sin. Lust. It was a sin you had known all too well.

When you had learned the Sister Jude had locked Ms. Winters, or 'Lana-banana' as Jude called her, up in Briarcliff on the premise of her being a lesbian, you felt offended. The hypocrisy of the decision made your skin itch, your blood boil. It was the day you had heard that, that you couldn't look Jude in the eyes. Lana's incarceration in Briarcliff felt like a personal attack, like a testament to Jude's true opinions of your liaisons. In your opinion, Jude may as well have locked your heart in a cell and pumped it full of tranquilizers, electroshocked it until it stopped beating, until it stopped feeling.

You saw Lana, and in her, your saw a part of yourself. You saw the part of yourself that was insecure, the part you detested. You saw the part of you that the Church told you God saw as evil and sinful, the part of you that condemned you to the fires of Hell. You thought Jude had understood that, that Jude had loved you in spite of that or because of that. You thought that Jude was like you. And yet…

Had you always been wrong?

You watched as Lana sat on the couch alone, hugging herself tightly as if she was forcing herself to stay together—to do anything she could do to not fall apart. Dominique played in the background and it was already getting on her nerves; you had learned to ignore the signing nun long ago. You observed Lana carefully, counted the seconds between her breaths. Shaking, you lifted the silver whistle to your lips, your eyes never leaving her. You blew slowly, the whistle letting out a high-pitched scream, notifying the patients to leave the common room.

Lana moved to exit last, inhaling deeply. You quickly moved to stop her from exiting. In the corner of your eye you noticed Kit trail behind the line, his brown eyes filled with worry. A guard ushered him out of the room and then looked to you. Nodding, you signaled to the guard that you would stay behind with Lana. The room was left to the two of you.

Your hand brushed against her cheek gently. "It's terrible what Sister Jude's done to you."

Lana laughed bitterly and looked up to the wall, "Oh, I think it's wonderful," she said sarcastically, but moved away from your touch.

"Did you ever wonder what Hell is like, Lana?"

"I'm guessing you'll say because this is it, right?" She turned to you, and put her hand on your knee. You could feel how warm it was through your habit and it excited you. You felt empowered by this little revenge against Jude. Lana, on the other hand, wasn't quite sure what she was doing. But, she couldn't deny that she felt a small comfort in your act of kindness.

"Did you really need the Kit Walker story?" you asked carefully, knowing that this would be a sensitive topic for Lana.

"Yeah, and I still do. I just hope it'll be worth all of this."

"And you're confident you'll make it out of here alive?"

"Well why the hell shouldn't I be?"

"Sister Jude locked you in here and she'll keep you here even if it's the last thing she does."

The statement didn't seem to affect Lana in the least bit. She had moxie, some nearly otherworldly strength that made her almost impervious to all that went against her.

"So what are you in here for?" she asked nonchalantly. "I don't take you as the run-of-the-mill nun." She put a cigarette in her mouth and taking a lighter out of your pocket, you lit it for her.

"I think Sister Jude likes to call them wood nymphs. I'm not exactly that, but you get the picture. What's between my legs has had more followers that the Church of Christ." You took the cigarette from her mouth and inhaled the smoke slowly, staring into her eyes. "Men and women," you husked, throwing the cigarette to the floor. "I know you miss Wendy. I can't be her, but I can be something for you. Anything you need me to be."

You knew exactly what you were doing in baiting Lana. You could only imagine the look on Sister Jude's face if she were to catch you. Perhaps then she would see the flaw in her actions. Though, you couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of remorse for what you would do next.

Lana moved her lips closer to yours, her hot breath rolling against your mouth. "Tempting," she whispered. You kissed slowly at first, your tongues intertwining. You could help but feel your heart falling from its spot in your chest as you kissed. She wasn't Jude—nothing and no one could replace Jude. You buried your hands in her hair, imagining that they were the golden curls Jude possessed, but was disappointed in the stick-straight hair your hand held.

Just as you closed your eyes, you felt Lana being torn from you. Before you instead was Jude, pulling Lana away from you with fury in her eyes and a broken heart sitting in her chest. Had she had the privacy she needed, Jude would have let the tears fall from her eyes. But she reasoned in the end, that perhaps you weren't tears. "It's such a shame that you whores can rarely lead pious lives," Jude spat at you.

Lana yelled out and attempted to fight Jude, but at the sound of a guard's footsteps running toward the room she quickly slumped over, defeated. "This one decided to attack Sister (Name). Take her to solitary and see if that teachers her something."

As the guard carried Lana away, you could see her weeping. You could hear her sob, "I shouldn't have done that to Wendy." And you understood then that Lana wanted to be punished for her betrayal of the only person she truly loved.

Jude waited until you two were alone, trembling with anger and anguish. "I don't know if I should lock you in a cell or if I should report you to Mother Superior."

"Put me on horse tranquilizers! Tell the world I'm a whore! I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!" you screamed, your throat raw. You could taste metal in your mouth. "It doesn't change the fact that you locked Lana up for being what she is. It doesn't change the fact that you went against everything that we are. And I can't be with someone like that. You're not one of god's fucking messengers. You might as well be the devil in disguise." Your voice was dangerously low, jagged and filled with a pain that surpassed all others. You believed in the words you spoke, but you wished they weren't true. You wished that this were a nightmare, but it hurt too much to be anything but reality. "Do your worse."

And she did just that. Taking you into her arms, she held you as the shook and thrashed against her. She took ever punch you inflicted on her chest and arms. She held you until you were left a wobbling mess, limp in her arms. She understood the reason for you anger, and it pained her to be unable to say how she was forced to admit Lana. If she hadn't, the secrets of Briarcliff would have been privy to the public who wasn't ready or enlightened enough to understand the good that Briarcliff was doing. "I had to do what I did, (Name.) I'm sorry. I had no other choice. I wish I could tell you why, but if I do you'll be in danger and I can't have that." She kissed the top of your head. "Despite that, I need you to forgive me."

"Judy, I can't keep this up. It's up and down. We're a mess, you and me." You pulled yourself away from her. "I love you, and I forgive you. But this—we're done." As much as you willed yourself to, you couldn't walk away from her. You stood as still as a statue, waiting for yourself to move away. Yet, you felt the magnetic pull to Jude that would inevitably send you into a spiral of disarray.

"Is that what you want?" she asked, her voice trembling. The weight of your words pulverized her heart and the answer would blow the debris out of her chest, leaving it a hollow and gaping hole. She had become a nun to partially avoid the pain, the pain of a broken heart sitting in her chest for an eternity. But even as a godly woman, she couldn't avoid a fate that seemed inevitable for her—eternal heartbreak, eternal pain. But this was something total; something that she felt would wipe her away from the face of the earth completely. The pain made her feel like she was dying a slow death and that God was watching her struggle to breathe her strangled breaths with glee. But she also deserved this punishment as well, for being a woman of the cloth who committed such a sin with you.

"Yes." The single word meant more than a painting, more than those thousands of words that could describe absolutely every painstaking stroke an artist could make. And though your yes was supposed to be painted in white, it came out as black. You nodded your head, and closed your eyes. "I want you to go."

You waited for Jude to pull you to her once more, to drag you into her deep, dark abyss and suffocate you when you would least expect it. Instead, you heard the sound of her feet walking away from you. You opened your eyes to the sight of her back, going farther and farther away from where you wanted her to be. The sound of the infinitely growing distance between you was like a cruel punishment. You wondered for a moment whether or not it was where you needed her to be, but without answering the question you ran after her.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I have no other explanation than school sucks up all the time I have. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I will try and continue this story as soon as I can.

Song I listened to while reading this: Florence + The Machine - St Jude: watch?v=xEMSJf723BI


End file.
